Shades of Sky
by Absoloblinkstagger
Summary: Living a life in the slum streets, life has not been going easy on Skye. The life of a mercenary often leaves you poised against the law, and a life against the law is bound to be full of exhilarating but dangerous moments.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N This story takes place in a fantasy medieval world, with creatures of other races that will be introduced as we go along.**

Chapter 1:

Skye… that's my name, right?

I haven't heard that name in a long time.

Was it Skye…?

I look up from my dark hiding spot in an alleyway, looking to the blue, clear sky above. The shade of azure makes the sky look like a clear, waveless sea above somehow. That thought somehow brings me comfort.

I continue to stare motionless towards the sky, my mind drifting as I relax against a wall in my hiding spot.

Is my name really Skye?

I take my gaze off the broad expanse of the sky, and back down into the darkness. I grasp at the fading echoes my lost memories. I struggle to find the memory that is just barely out of reach that proves my name is indeed Skye.

There...

I recall clearly, many years ago... A boy told me that my eyes were as pretty as the sky itself, a lame attempt to catch a girl's eye by making a pun out of her name.

How many years ago was that? At least twelve years before… That… I shake my head to keep memories from surfacing to the forefront of my mind. I don't need those memories in my head. All I need and should have space for is this: I'm a human who lives off the streets.

Looking back at the sky, I let my mind drift away once again into idle thoughts. I could sit here for eternity, doing nothing.

"Brrrrrr" The rumbling of my stomach kills the moment, grumbling and groaning loudly. "D'arvit" I curse under my breath in elvish tongue, slowly getting up. I picked up a bit of elvish from listening to countless shopkeepers and tentative acquaintances speak in the commonly used tongue.

I begin to walk out of my hiding spot, back towards the light.

Skye... Nobody has addressed me by that name for a long time. My most popular names were "Missy", "Thief", "Burglar" and the occasional "Murderer". Not the most appealing collection of nicknames, but it's not like I could decide how other people branded me.

I pull the hood of my coat over my upper face, shadowing it in darkness. I turn to a pipe along the side a terrace house and begin scaling it with practised dexterity. The sound of my hands thumping against the hollow metal pipe fills my ears.

Finally, I reach the top. I push myself over the edge of the roof and into the safety of elevated land.

The house is made from brick and mortar. Like most houses in the slum sectors, its architect must have wept when he saw how the building turned out.

Most of the bricks were not evenly cemented into its body, leaving the mortar spread messily. This resulted in small dents and humps along it, with some splashed over the red but now red-and-white bricks. The roof was flat and had a base of cement, with tiles along it. The tiles overlap each other to shield the roof from rain.

"Damn it, why can't I get up?" I whisper to myself, laying on the slanted tiles of the flat roof. There was not much around, other than puddles of residue water — owing to poor execution of the construction of the roof, the water had yet to slide away to the ground below. The puddles were small after enduring wave after wave of harsh sunlight.

When was the last time I ate? Probably a few days back. I've had rotten luck with stealing food as of late.

I will myself to get up, and walk limply to the edge of the roof that is facing the street below, surveying the scene from above. It's morning — The street is packed with early shoppers looking for their day's worth of groceries. Perfect.

I return to the pipe that I scaled earlier, effortlessly sliding down to the bottom. I head towards the street outside the alley.

While I move towards the exit, I pull my hood back and ran my fingers through my long, black, greasy hair, which seemed more like a translucent black veil, to try and detangle it. My hair has seen better days, but I rarely get the opportunity to shower. The once silky smooth hair was now an unruly mess of jet black strings. Straightening it and hiding it under my coat, I exit the alley.

I look to the left and right, checking for any patrols of legionaries. After confirming that the coast was clear, I make my way over to the bulk of stalls and shoppers in the wet market.

Halfway, I stop myself as I walk beside a wall. Something had caught my eye. I back up a few steps and turn to my left. There. A wanted poster of me, which featured a drawn image of me. It depicts me quite accurately, all the way down to how I'm wearing a hood in the poster. I look around to check that no one is watching, before grabbing the poster off the wall and crumbling it into a ball, tossing the crushed poster over my shoulder and moving on.

The good news is that they've still yet to get ahold of my face, the bad news is that the authorities have started to take notice of me. Should I feel intimidated or flattered? I'm not sure.

My eyes search the morning crowd of market-goers: a man in a brown tunic, matching brown loose pants and sandals. Probably a young man who has yet to go off to school; a woman wearing a long gown with her hair tied in a bun, probably a housewife looking for the daily round of food to supply a family.

My eyes continue to scan the crowd while I move in closer towards the market. Still no legionaries or any sort of patrol — perfect conditions for a free breakfast.

I enter the wet market. The crowded, noisy place is jam-packed with early birds who are looking for fresh foods. I keep a low profile, my head kept low while still remaining mindful of my surroundings.

What should I steal… An interesting question for one to ask oneself, but it was a question that would be inevitably asked by someone in my position.

My eyes lock onto a bread stall, and I close in on the target like a shark on its prey. While on my way over to my destined victim of shop theft, I spot an opportunistic moment.

"Oi! Watch where you're going, missy!" A shout soon fills my ears. No one else flinches. Market-goers are usually determined to mind their own businesses and remain oblivious to the world around them. I raise my hands in fake surrender and apology.

"Sorry sir, I didn't mean it," I reply, before bowing my head low and walking past him. He shakes his head and begins to continue on with his life, but not before I reach out with calculated precision. A small dagger slides out from the left sleeve of my coat. I feel the blade with my thumb, easing it into position in my fingers with practiced grace.

A quick swipe at a string holding a coin pouch as the man turns away rewards me with a money pouch dropping into the welcoming embrace of my left palm. I quickly use my right hand to open up the right part of my coat's torso area and drops the closed coin bag into a pocket, then returning my blade to its concealed spot on my coat sleeve. Another bag's worth of easy money.

Finished with my small detour, I reach the stall, where rickety wooden boxes barely hold its load of bread, the poorly crafted collection of wooden slabs look like they could give way at any moment. I look through the options of bread idly, out of the corner of my eye watching the store keeper, waiting for…

There, the stocky man in a white apron looks away, his arms hairy and toned from his work in kneading bread. I quickly reach out and grab a loaf of bread. I'm already making for a clean getaway when...

"Excuse me, don't these things come with a price?" I feel a hand on my shoulder, fear suddenly coursing through me as although I can't feel it, I'm sure color is draining away from my face.

I turn to face the owner of the voice and just as I suspected, it's a legionary, clad in full armour. Chain mail can be seen peeking out from his uniform tunic, a sword sheathed behind his back behind his shield, a helmet covering most of his face, which showcases young features, blue eyes that are drooping somewhat from the daily morning grind. His sleepy eyes stare me down, as if piercing my body and reaching for my very soul.

My mind races as we exchange stares for a moment or two. What are my options? In most scenarios, these were my main set of options: steal, run, kill or scream. Screaming never had any productive effect, so that's crossed out. With such a large crowd, I doubt I would be able to get away with murder in broad daylight. Stealing was definitely not an option, which left me with my last possible course of action: Running.

A hasty plan formulates in my head within moments, while the legionnaire on patrol probably contemplates in his mind what to do with the thief that was yours truly.

With all the speed I can muster, I lurch backward, grabbing a loaf of bread from the stall and throwing it with all my might into the face of the soldier, before turn tailing and making a run for it.

Jumping onto the slanted table that supported numerous boxes of bread, I balance myself for half a moment before looking to the cloth roof of the stall. I decide it's probably best to add it to my escape route — I'm not sure how running through the market crowd will go.

I jump up and scamper onto the cloth roof, my body sinking in and I swear the cloth must be tearing already. I look ahead and take in what I can, as fast as I can. A house is about four meters away, definitely not within jumping distance, but if I can climb onto the roof, there was no way the legionnaire could pursue.

My mind made up, I make the jump, the power of the jump severely dampened by the soft ground I was on. I land on the ground with a soft thud. Without daring to take a glance behind my back, I dash for the house. Most houses have a pipe to the upper floor, and this one was no exception.

I grab the pipe tight. I immediately start to scale it, hearing sounds of a man shouting from a distance away. I keep on going, climbing and climbing until I reach the end of the pipe, where it stops short about half a meter before the roof.

Getting a grip on bricks of the house, I hoist myself onto the top of the pipe, my shaking feet quickly balancing on it before I look up to check how far the roof is.

After quickly deciding the edge of the roof is close enough, I jump up. My hands grab the edge of the roof. My fingers scramble to find purchase before pulling the rest of my body up.

I crawl further inwards of the roof, before daring to turn around to check. Two legionaries below have finally caught on, looking up to meet my gaze as I remember to pull my hood on, so as to prevent them from remembering my face.

Most of the time, they will give up because of how stiff they are under all the armor, but I wasn't going to wait to find out if they would try to follow me. I turn around and start running, preparing to jump to the next roof.

With a running start and strong launch, I sail across the air between houses, landing onto the next tiled roof and continue the process, until I've cleared about a block through jumping between terraced house roofs.

Sitting down on the current roof I was on, I sigh and look up to the sky, laying back to once again relax and recharge from the exhilarating experience. It's been quite the morning, and…

Wait, where is my bread? My eyes widen as I physically look at my hands. The bread! I lost it! "D'arvit" I curse in elvish tongue under my breath, groaning.

I have no idea how long I have spent lying here on the roof, despairing over the loss of my breakfast, but the rumbling of my stomach coaxes me back to life.

These were one of those times where I wished I could go back in time. I wish I could go back in time and slap myself across the face, and tell myself to put the damn bread into my coat pocket. Unfortunately, for some reason, I was convinced that my day was going to have to be worse than it already was.

After another round of what seemed like an eternity of despair, the insistent rumbling of my tummy again pushes me to move on with life. I climb down the roof using a pipe by the side of the house, and walk back onto the street, pulling my hood back down again.

I'm feeling weaker by the moment I realize, and I'm not sure how much longer I'll be able to last without food. I wander around the streets. I eventually pass by a bakery, the aroma of fresh baked pastry filling my nostrils.

I cannot take it any longer. I dig into my coat pocket and retrieve the stolen coin pouch from earlier, emptying it onto my hand. I count the coins; eight bronze coins, and three silver coins. Not much of a fortune, but it was enough for a few days worth of frugal eating.

I walk into the shop, a bell ringing as I push through the wooden door. Stealing from such a store was almost suicidal; the shopkeepers were usually experienced, and even if they were looking away, you could be sure that the shop owner would be watching you like a hawk.

Baskets of fresh pastry line the stone counter. The shop consists of a walkway from the door to the other end of the shop, with a stone counter separating the kitchen from the rest of the shop. I walk along the counter, scanning through my options.

I'm the only customer around, so the friendly-looking shopkeeper smiles warmly at me, following me while I walk. "See anything that interests you, love?" She says finally, trying to break the silence.

I shrug in response, continuing to compare different pastries in my head, working towards a decision. "Everything interests me," I reply softly.

"How about this love, you pick two of 'em, and I'll charge you… five bronze pieces. How about that?" She smiles while facing me, walking backward from behind me to infront of me.

I shrug, then nod my head, digging into my coat pocket. I slowly feel the coins in the pocket located along the inner layer of my right torso side, taking out five bronze coins and handing them over, before grabbing two loaves of bread that I decide are the best options.

Going legal; not a bad option, but not a good one either, stay legal for too long and you might find yourself broke. Of course, I'm probably a biased right about now, I think as I stare at the two fresh loaves of bread in my hands, feeling their warmth with my palms.

I leave the shop. I begin to dig into the pastries, hungrily ravaging through them, tearing the crusty fresh bread with my teeth. I must be very hungry. It's only morning, but I can already tell that today is going to be a long day.

 **A/N Thanks for reading! It's my first time writing, so please go easy on me. Special thanks to Ali or Iamdeadghost for helping me proofread it, and teaching me how to not be a noob writer, as well as Roselle for helping me realise how terrible the sentence structure was in my first draft. I'd also like to thank Aqua Lilly and Femme Fatale On Ice for being my awesome beta readers, they're the reason why this thing isn't a piece of trash.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N Well if you're reading this, I would assume that you enjoyed the first chapter, so thank you!**

Chapter 2

"12 gold coins."

"You're kidding."

"Do I look like I'm kidding?" He leans over, looking me in the eye as he speaks, staring seemingly into my soul. My eyes were supposed to be unseeable under the cover of my hood, but either he has some incredible sight, or is unfazed by my hood.

I'm in a blacksmith's shop, although simply calling it a blacksmith's shop wouldn't give it enough justice. This was Grado's establishment, and although he never showed a spark of compassion for me, he probably cared about me to a certain degree.

The shop consisted of an entrance in the form of a light brown wooden door, the door's carvings were uneven and rough. Moving on, there was an anvil in the middle of the room that the entrance of the shop led to, its resilient black metal had seen many weapons molded into shape.

To the left of the entrance was a furnace, which was embedded in the middle of the wall, ambers leaking from its opening. Holders that displayed crafted weapons line the walls, and diagonally opposite of the entrance was a door to the rest of the shop that patrons rarely were allowed to enter.

Grado is a large man, wearing a white singlet that did little to shield my eyes from his manly glory underneath, with blue worn shorts. If I were to ask a scholar to describe to me what a top-heavy man would look like, Grado would probably be the point of reference. The man's muscles were hard as rock from his line of work, and I wouldn't dream of challenging him to an arm wrestling match. His full grown mustache only added to his image of a man you did not want to mess with.

"12 gold coins for such a thin sword? That's ridiculous." Our topic of discussion was a sword, particularly a custom katana that I had ordered from him.

Why custom made? Firstly, katanas were difficult to come by, secondly, I wanted a light katana that would fit my more...petite form. Most sword wielders were bulky and strong, so as accordingly there were a negligible number of swords designed for the people of smaller frames.

"It's steel that does not rust, and it's custom-made. 12 gold coins is final."

"I could just walk away though. Good luck finding anyone else interested in your 'custom sword'"

"What I do with the sword if you don't buy it is my business, not yours. So pay up, or you aren't getting it."

I roll my eyes in the shade of my hood, which hopefully he wouldn't be able to see, and sigh. "Fine. I'll try to raise the sum, but don't you dare sell it to anyone else"

"It's done" He grunts, his arms crossed as he nods. He grabs the sword in its sheath from the anvil where he had set it down, and takes it with him to the door that led further into the store.

He left the room, leaving me alone inside the central room of the shop. It went without saying that attempting to steal his wares would result in a very big crater in my face the next time he saw me.

I pull a wooden chair over and recline in it, my mind deep in thought. 12 gold coins… that was a huge sum to raise… all for a sword. Well I couldn't really back out of the deal; an unhappy Grado would lead to a shortage in my essential supply of daggers.

Minutes later, I find myself back on the streets. Pickpocketing brought in easy money, yes, but the money it brought in was usually nothing but pocket change. Furthermore, one wandering eye that caught me in the act would lead to a lot of complications.

So how do I rake in bigger amounts of money? Through jobs that were distributed to mercenaries.

If I ever had to tell someone what my occupation was, it would be an interesting conversation, one that would include 'pickpocket', 'mercenary', 'assassin' all in the same sentence.

After a long and mundane walk, I've finally reached my destination. Nothing of particular note happened on my journey, thankfully there were no awkward encounters with legionary patrols.

The city I lived in went by the name of Deran. It wasn't the most shiny city around, but it certainly wasn't terrible. It was the large capital city of the empire under the Gaden royal family, but like most large cities, it had a few- okay it had a number of slum sectors.

Anyways, I was in a more… exclusive part of the slum sectors. Not everything can be found in the sectors of the aristocrats, and this place was one of them.

Galedale; the main hub of mercenary business. I was at a deserted alleyway, standing alone like some sort of idiot who enjoyed staring into the darkness of a narrow space. The only thing however, that would prevent people from having such a mentality towards me would be the sign that was put up on the wall next to the entrance of alleyway: 'Galedale'

A one word sign yes, but it was jam packed with meaning. Any half-wit would know what Galedale is, and would know to steer clear away.

Mages (expensive services, but it emphasised the prosperity of the place) worked to keep the entrance under the wraps, and a highly complex web of security measures were in place, or so I've heard. That would however explain why the royal army hasn't stormed the place yet.

I walk down the alleyway, darkness enveloping me; it was evening, but only at dusk and after dusk were entries allowed through this public entrance. I didn't know where were the private and faster entrances, so this was my only option.

I walk in the dark alleyway, eyes slowly getting adjusted to the darkness as my surroundings gradually become more and more visible.

Finally, I reach an area where a singular block of brick is sticking out. I reach out and push it in, and a mechanism clicks into place.

A codeword now had to be said; they changed the codeword every month, and to get the codeword, the middlemen would have to find creative ways to verify that you were not some spy trying to report the existence of Galedale to the authorities.

"Wangap" I whisper into the brick wall, and a purple rune starts to glow over a few bricks in front of me. I stand back, and wait for a few moments. When the rune slowly fades away, I gingerly poke a finger into the wall. As expected, the wall feels liquefied, and I proceed to send the rest of my body through the wall.

I emerge from a portal, in the middle of the hidden city. Behind me is a circle where purple magic starts to compress into a small ball in the centre of the now hollow circle, and the purple energies begin to dissipate afterwards, while I begin to take in Galedale once again.

The city was a small one, and mostly consistented of inns, houses where deals were struck and people would meet, and a large central city hall, which stood some 20 metres away from me.

I start to walk down stone steps that lead me down from the platform that supported the portal, while I bathed the City Hall with my gaze.

It hasn't changed a bit since my last visit. For the most part, it was basically a large bungalow that housed several floors of notice boards of jobs of mercenaries, while the top 2 floors housed the small management team of the mercenary city. As for the outside, it was built of stone, with an interesting design of metal bricks integrated into it, a rich, well kept grass lawn surrounding it.

A stone path guides me along the grass terrain that surrounds the City Hall, my eyes wandering around the rest of Galedale. The last time I came here was a week back, the city's ignorant style of having a collection of mismatched houses that had no care or concern for how each of them had stark contrasts to each other.

For example, there, on my right is a small cottage of straw and stone, probably a cheap meeting house for mercenaries, while beside it is a large tavern, consisting of probably 3-4 stories, its windows lit with electric lights; you can tell because the light was constant throughout, usually candlelight would provide an unsteady flow of light, flickering and slowly phasing between dim and bright as it glows.

I reach the front porch of the City Hall, climbing wooden steps that lead me onto the porch. I'm not alone. A man in a long black tunic with long sleeves and a long goatee watches me intently. He's leaning against the wall, his left hand resting against his torso while supporting the elbow of his right arm, which thoughtfully strokes his goatee.

I don't make eye contact with him, though not like eye contact was possible with my hood on, and make my way diagonally left, heading for the door, my steps thumping against the hollow wooden floor. I reach out and pull down the handle, pushing through the door to enter.

Thankfully, the place is mostly deserted, so there were no further awkward meetings with people. The insides of the city hall were nothing of particular note, other than the way vandalism had taken hold of the area. Crude graffiti line the walls as I walk, but I don't pay any attention to them.

The main area of interest to visitors of the City Hall was the bulletin board in a central, large sitting room. On the board are various requests for mercenaries in a variety of tasks, from bodyguarding someone to orchestrating convenient 'disappearances' of people.

I've never really had any taste for being anyone's babysitter, nor was I interested in doing any searching for lost persons. This crossed out a fat chunk of available jobs, but it was fine by me. I scan through the rest of the possible jobs, wishfully hoping that one of them would pay gold coins, but alas, wishful thinking remained as wishful thinking.

I grit my teeth and lightly punch a wall in frustration, before regaining my composure and heading back where I came. There was more than one way to get a job, especially in Galedale.

"So, will you take the job?"

"Sure. My price is 15 gold coins." I stated, leaning back into the wooden chair I was reclining in, resting an arm on the backrest of it. Here I was, meeting some potential employer in a tavern, probably public so I wouldn't be given the choice of using any force to get my way.

I had assumed this would mean that the job he wanted me to do was going to be difficult in order to have the protection from any violent demands for a higher pay. My assumption was unfortunately correct.

"I'm not paying that much"

"You want me to break into a military garrison"

"Given your skillset, I doubt it would be difficult"

I raise an eyebrow "What?"

"I've been looking through the potential suitors for this job"

Wow. He must be desperate then. "Fine, 13 gold coins, or good luck finding someone else"

He sits back in his chair, stroking his beard. He's a man who's probably in his late 40s to 50s, scrawny and shocks of white amongst his short black hair. "I could employ a mage to do it." He finally says after a pause.

I scoff, "A mage would cost you much more than what I'm offering."

"True…"

"12 gold coins, or I walk" I stand up to illustrate my point. If he called my bluff, I would be in a really awkward position. I was lucky to have found this man, and it was unlikely that I would be able to find another job that paid so well.

All the particularly high value jobs were circulated among the highly skilled mercenaries who had a name that meant something. Unfortunately I have yet to be scouted and added to that exclusive club, so this job was almost as good as it gets.

The man raises his hands in surrender, "Fine fine, it's a deal."

I risk a smirk in my otherwise emotionless lower face. Most of the time, my hood shielded my upper face, leaving the lower face to be the only readable part of my face, which I had conveniently trained to leave impossible to read.

The deal sealed, I reached out a hand for him to shake. He takes it eagerly, and I sit back down to discuss the finer details of the mission.

From what information I had gathered, particularly from my conversation with him.

Basically, he had an important item that was 'stolen', 'swiped', 'snitched' from him by the a group of 'juvenile' legionaries who 'have a terrible grasp of the law', and that it was imperative to his existence that the item was retrieved.

Whatever the justifications, my job is to infiltrate the local garrison in the neighbourhood outside Galedale, 'liberate' the item from the 'malicious clutches of the soldiers'.

After getting all the information at my disposal, I leave Galedale and make for my secret stash a few blocks away.

I could list a million and one reasons why it was essential to have a stash to a keep less… discreet outfit. Carrying only a few daggers and negligible amounts of armour was much easier to conceal and, in the case of a body check, to give excuses for.

That is why I keep a secret stash hidden away in a part of the city that is in the centre of the district I normally stay within. The hidden stash contains a set of gear that would allow me to be better suited for combat and jobs I take on in general.

Tired from a day full of walking from point to point in the city, I finally arrive at the stash. It was in the form of a chest, buried under the disguise of a sewer cover that refused to open, except to someone who knew what it was.

I kneel down infront of the cast iron cover with grates, counting the number of grates until 4, before slipping my hand down through the opening between grate 3 and 4, feeling the area around the opening, my fingers finding a lock.

My second hand retrieves a key from a keychain around my neck, pulling the chain off my neck and sliding it between the grates to join my right hand, feeling the key into its hole in the padlock that I grip with my right hand.

I held the key tight to prevent any clumsy butterfinger action, doing the same for the padlock as it clicked open from the persuasion of my key. I slide both items out from beneath the cover, placing them safely a distance away.

Next, I grip the grates of the cover, and with all my strength I pull it up and aside, revealing what was in the shade of darkness below.

Under the cover was a rectangular hole that was slightly larger than a chest that sat snugly inside. I grab the chest and hoist it out, dropping it beside the whole and sighing, resting my poor arms.

I pop open the chest, retrieving the stored items and getting changed and armed. Leather black boots with steel soles and tip, arm guards that covered wrist to elbow with steel, a belt of daggers combined with another sling-like belt of daggers that went diagonally from top right to bottom left across my shoulder and chest.

Resting flat under the arch of my feet in the bottom of my boots are two more daggers, along with a multitude of other daggers stashed in many places along my body and outfit. I'm wearing a black skirt that went to my lower thighs, metal laced along it. It wouldn't stop a stab from a sword, but it was definitely slicing-resistant.

Along with that, I wear black gloves that didn't cover my fingers, and black opaque stockings. There's also my beloved coat, which I had a certain degree of attachment to.

This all may come off as over the top and expensive, but this collection of equipment had been gathered over time through saving and scraping enough money to have them built by Grado.

After stashing back the chest with my previous set of clothing, I leave the area. I roughly knew where the garrison was, so the map my client gave was not so essential.

Now it was probably about midnight, thanks to the long period of walking about the city and doing dealings in Galedale. Perfect timing for me to get the job done, and maybe I could claim a bonus for finishing the job on the same day as getting it.

More walking around through streets brings me to the garrison. I'm probably about a block away from it now, walking with my hood down in a mostly deserted street.

To the ordinary, the world outside one's home is not safe after dark. I'm not the ordinary. Only my fingers and lower mouth are unconcealed by black clothing, so in the shade of the night, I am practically invisible.

A few gangsters hang out by a small bonfire they made at a corner. I don't bother keeping my distance, continuing on my merry way to defy the law.

My surroundings are hard to make out by the dim moonlight, but as I scan the buildings, I can roughly make out their stone structures, wooden doors, and other features.

Finally, I'm at the garrison. It's a large rectangular-like structure, a tall guard house towering from above beside it. No doubt there was someone on duty up there, but chances are, if he was bothering to do his job, he wouldn't see me from up there anyways.

A military garrison served to provide lodging for legionary patrols in the sector, and contained an arsenal for times of need.

The structure is like a bunker, with the size of about one and a half houses, a large buffer zone of nothing else in its vicinity in a radius of about 5 metres, as if it was emitting some sort of anti-building aura. It was of course to enhance the security of the garrison, but still.

The garrison has a wall surrounding it — probably used with a portcullis designed for smaller walls. The garrison is three storeys high, on the second floor there is an opening, a gap of about 4-5 inches between the upper wall and lower wall, meant for archers to be able to fire on attackers.

The garrison has a few windows, but they are few and far between. Makes sense, since windows were a vulnerability, a convenient opening for any dynamite or other demolitions to be thrown into the garrison.

So how am I going to infiltrate this thing? My eyes scan along its stone blocks sealed together with mortar, my mind deep in thought.

As if a lightning bolt had struck from the skies into a light bulb floating over my head, an idea flashes across my conscious.

The idea comes in the form of a small visual playback of a possible scene in my head. I could take a running start from the closest house roof, jump for it and try and reach the roof of the garrison.

Not a great plan, and there was no safety net for a bad jump and failure to reach the garrison roof. However, it beats trying to get past the wall, and scaling the garrison was not on my list of 'things I want to do'.

Am I confident enough in my agility? It could very well be my fatal end if I miss the garrison roof, and it's a 6 metre distance to cross. I take a short glance through the houses surrounding the garrison's 6 metre buffer zone.

Great. No four storey houses. Fantastic. I doubt I'll be able to make the jump from a three storey house. I look to the skies.

Why God why? I can't turn away from the job, so I have to get it done. How am I going to get it done with… My eyes catch something. The building I'm hiding behind, it's 4 storeys high! It's a damn hotel, a modest one, but still, it was a 4 storey building.

Minutes later, I'm getting ready for the jump, pacing back and forth from the edge of the roof that is facing away from the garrison. I play the plan in my mind one last time, before whispering a silent prayer under my breath.

I turn to face forward, towards the edge of the roof that faced the garrison. The roof is a flat one with a parapet to protect people from easily falling over.

I took the liberty of adding a wooden ramp to make sure the parapet didn't slow me down. Now prepared, I bend my knees, getting ready to make the sprint.

3...2...1… I zoom forward, air rushing along my body as I sprint with all my strength, arms swinging backwards and forwards for balance, as my bouncing vision watches the ramp come closer and closer.

Trusting muscle memory, I jump from the roof when my instincts send the signal to jump. My legs quickly bend slightly and I push off with all my might, wind on my face as I sail in an arc from the roof towards the garrison's roof. Am I going to make it?

Time seems to slow down as I fly towards the roof. I might be descending too quickly. At the same time, it was still too early to say. What difference does it make anyways? Knowing that I'm not going to make it won't save me from the painful demise I would meet if I fall to the ground below.

Finally the moment of truth has arrived. I'm about a metre away from the roof, continuing to descend at a rapid pace. I reach out for the edge of the roof as it comes within grasp, and my hands find purchase in it.

If it wasn't for my desperate reach for the roof, I would have missed it. I hang from the roof with one hand standing between me and an extremely unpleasant fall.

I swing my left arm up to join my right hand, both upper limbs now support the rest of my body as it hangs from the roof. I start to pull myself up, grunting from the effort as my arms take the load.

I pull myself up and rest on the slanted roof, lying for a moment. Interesting feeling you get when you come so close to death.

The moment has passed. I'm up again, carefully rooting myself to the roof while looking down to the garrison below. So, I've gotten onto the roof… Now what? I realise I didn't plan for what to do when I actually got onto the roof.

The windows would make a lot of noise, and from there the whole operation would be difficult to proceed with, that left very few options for breaking in.

There was that slit in the walls of the garrison; the openings that archers would shoot from. It wasn't a very good plan, but it was probably the only way to sneak into the garrison undetected.

Now all I have to figure out is how to descend two storeys down and get through an 8 inch high opening in the wall.

Not for the first time in my career as a mercenary, I wish I had access to magic. Thankfully, I had something that could make up for the absence of that factor.

Pulling out three small daggers from my belt, I had a variety of different daggers, these small diamond shaped daggers had a ring that extended from the back of the dagger, where a small narrow rope could be tied around.

From a compartment of my coat I retrieve a sleek narrow rope; the linen rope is still new so its surface was still smooth instead of rough. Looping the rope around each dagger and tying a knot, I now had all three daggers tied to one rope.

Next, I take the first dagger, which is situated near the edge of the rope. Pulling my hand back for extra force, I ram the dagger in between two roof tiles, pushing it inwards and downwards.

Tugging on it to make sure it's secure, I throw the rope down the edge of the roof. Gripping it tightly, I turn my back to the edge of the roof.

I lower myself from the edge of the roof to the outer wall of the structure, slowly scaling down it with the pushing motions of my feet.

Finally, I arrive at my destination. The opening for archers is just below me. I push off lightly with my feet, swinging outwards away from the wall, allowing my legs to sink to below me, leaving me hanging vertically below me.

Lowering myself slowly, I extend my foot towards the wall, as my body descends slowly with my hands letting go one my one and gripping the rope below the other hand.

My foot lands on the lower edge of the opening, tilting it forward to get a foothold, before pulling me in. My second foot joins my first, pulling me closer to the opening.

Both legs slide through the opening to a depth of my knees, bending my knees to provide enough pull to reel in my hip, my hands loosen to allow me to slide further through the opening, finally reaching where I can let go of the rope.

My body drops into the garrison, metal boots thudding against the stone floor. Now that I'm inside, I quickly take in my surroundings.

The floor is a platform for archers to shoot from, where the outer walls of the room had a horizontal opening that was half a metre in height.

The outer walls made up a rectangular shape when you looked down from above, while the inner walls made up a smaller rectangular. The distance between the inner and outer wall was about a metre to 3 quarters of a metre.

The inner wall was of a large pillar which made up the rectangle of the inner wall that was not used by staircases.

The staircases. A staircase that led upstairs was built into the breath of the left side of the rectangle of the inner wall.

There are two staircases that lead downstairs, in opposite positions along the length of the rectangle of the inner walls, with the staircase of the top side of the rectangle being located at the edge of the left side, while the staircase on the lower side of the rectangle being located at the edge of the right side.

The staircases have metal railings located on both sides, stone steps built into the pillar. The garrison has been around for decades, and this was evident in the condition of the staircase. The railings are pockmarked with dents and small craters, the stone steps sported chips along them.

The walls of the inner rectangle of the floor were lined with weapon holders that held various arms, from crossbows to swords; quivers full of arrows leaned against the outer rectangle wall. The weapons looked new; probably from the garrison's lack of any action.

I finish taking a quick look around the new environment, pausing to pick up any sounds of alarm from any potential witnesses of my entry. Satisfied that I still held the element of concealment, I silently creep to the staircase that leads to the upper floor.

According to the map my client had given me, the object I was looking to recover was located on the third floor. Carefully climbing up the stone steps, I reach the upper floor, peeking around the floor above from the steps closest to the third floor's deck.

This place was deserted so far, which aroused my suspicions, but it's not like I'm complaining. I enter the third floor via the staircase, and proceed to take a good long look around, consulting my memory of the map to get my bearings.

The floor was stone, its layout was in the shape of a rectangle, with the staircase taking up residence in left side of the rectangle, while doors lined the lengths of the rectangle. The right breath was occupied solely by a single door that had the label 'Captain's office'.

"3rd door from the right…" I whisper to myself, turning to my right from exiting the staircase, approaching the third door from the right wall.

My fingers felt the cold metal latch of the thick oaken door, the wood coarse and old. Pulling back the metal latch slowly with caution, I push the door open with my left shoulder.

The heavy wooden door creaked faintly as my body coaxed it open. The walls of the garrison enjoyed the privilege of electric lights; that was how I managed to see my surroundings. However, the lamps in this room were turned off, and I unfortunately did not possess the know-how to turn them on.

The light of the landing behind me escaped into the room, but it did little to give me an idea of the room's layout. I step further into the darkness, hands held forward to help me feel my way around the room.

After a few minutes of exploration in the darkness of night, I have a rough idea of the room; it seemed to be empty save for some sort of enclosure in the middle of the room.

I feel the outer shell of whatever this enclosure is, it seems to be some sort of pillar, made of metal and had a door which faced the entrance of the room.

My best guess would be that it's some sort of locker, which would mean my client's 'stolen' item must be in it. Now the question is: how do I open the damn thing.

My client did not provide any means to open whatever held his lost possession, so I was on my own for this one.

After taking about a minute to ponder over my options, I reviewed the possible steps I could take: I could give up now and find a way to escape the garrison, (a problem I would undoubtedly have to face later on anyways) or find a key to open the locker.

An idea starts to brew in my mind as I leave the room, turning to the captain's quarters on my right. A captain most probably carried the keys for every lock in the building, and going down to the first floor in search for another set of keys was much riskier.

I stride over to the door, stopping before it and leaning on the heavy duty wood, pressing my ear against the thick wooden door to see if I could pick up any noises. To my dismay however, as I leaned against the door, it opened. I had been too careless, forgetting to check if the door was latched.

I stumble forward into the room as the door swings open, revealing a large room with shelves on either side; a thick oaken desk with several papers sprawled across it and a bed at the very end of the room.

What I found most alarming about the room was the fact that behind the desk sat a legionary captain, along with another legionary who stood in front of the desk.

Both men were armed, swords sheathed by their sides. The captain's shield was leaning against the wall beside the captain, while the other legionary had his slung behind his back.

The captain's eyes widened as he was immediately aware of my presence. The other legionary noticed his sudden change of expression and turned around.

Time seemed to freeze as my heart rate skyrocketed. Turning back was hardly an option at this point. Without another thought, I slide out a dagger in each hand from the sleeve of my coat, dashing forward.

I'm running on pure instinct, dashing straight into the nearest legionary, bringing up my right dagger to bear against him. The man is wearing full legionary armour, which would be nearly impossible to break through with my daggers. However, the armour's helmet did not protect the face of its wearer.

While the soldier reaches for his sword at his hip, I lunge forward with blinding speed, ramming my dagger into his right cheek through the opening in his helmet. Before the man can even cry out in pain, I push him into the oaken desk, effectively removing him from the fight.

By the time I'm done with the legionary, the captain has already drawn his sword. He roars, charging forward. I jump to a side, avoiding his initial assault.

Drawing another dagger, I lunge forward at him in an attempt to quickly end the fight. I cross my arms, before swinging them outwards in a circular motion to slash at his chest.

The daggers meet his chest armour, metal sliding against metal as my attack meets no success. The man thankfully did not retrieve his shield, but his sword was dangerous enough. He draws his right arm back, preparing to make a dangerous stab attack with his sword.

I hit the deck, dropping onto my left thigh while raising my right foot, aiming for his left armoured leg as I kick my right leg forward with all my strength.

The kick knocks the captain from his footing, forcinghim to drop to a knee. This gives me to retract my right leg and get onto my hunches. Readying the daggers in my hands, I jump up and raise my daggers high up above my head, bringing them down while I lose altitude.

Usually such an attack would leave my victim with a very nasty head injury, but the captain unfortunately had a helmet on. My daggers impact hard against the steel, dealing negligible amounts of damage.

The captain retaliates in the form of an uppercut with his fist, knocking me back from under the chin. My head is knocked backwards, pain spreading across my chin. I recoil backwards, working hard to regain focus.

The captain raises his sword diagonally to make a swing at me. I raise both arms up, bringing my arm guards up to block his attack. Metal clashes against metal. My arm guards endure the shock of the blow.

My body shudders from the shock of the block. There's no way I can win this fight. I need an escape plan. Now.

I lean back and drop to the ground, dropping onto my back and rolling away. I get up, knees bent low and hands held up in front of me. This buys me a few moments to form a manoeuvre in my head.

My eyes drift to a ring of keys clipped to the captain's belt, sacrificing precious seconds to stare at it. The doors inside this garrison are extremely durable. The doors in this room can only be locked and unlocked from the outside. One of those keys opens the gate outside.

A cunning plan quickly shapes in my head. The captain's eyes stare me down from the protection of his helmet. I charge forward with alarming speed, moving low for his keys.

Unfortunately, I meet an unpleasant surprise. The captain's reactions are too quick. He quickly brings his shield forward and slams it straight into me.

I stumble backwards, stunned momentarily. Fortunately, I manage to stop myself from making a dangerous fall to the ground. A few precious moments are spent on regaining my bearings.

The captain was already drawing his sword back for a lethal swing to the chest. He however assumed I was going to remain stunned until the fatal blow came. He was wrong.

Seizing the opportunity laid out before me, I quickly duck and brace my legs against the ground, and before the captain can react, I push off my legs and lunge for him.

My lighter body tackles his with enough force to knock him back. His shield had thankfully been held facing away. My sudden attack therefore met no resistance while I make a plunge into his lower torso.

With all my remaining strength, I grip my dagger hard in my hand and jab him in the gut. I pull out the dagger. I jab him again. I jab and jab and jab again. Finally, I push his terribly weakened frame onto the ground.

The captain lies on the hard, unforgiving stone floor, blood flowing freely from his open wounds. He gurgles some inaudible words. I look him in the eyes, bending down onto my knees, and I jab him in the face with the cold steel of my dagger.

Fatigue grips me while adrenaline makes its exit. I drop to the ground, dagger clattering beside me as all I can hear is the sound of my heart pumping away like the chugging of a locomotive.

My heart eventually calms down ever so slightly; the close encounter with death has left it in a heightened state. I crawl towards the the dead captain, reaching out and grabbing a large ring of keys attached to his belt.

I yank the ring free. I have what I came for. Slowly easing my body back into a standing position, I bend over and pull out the dagger from the frozen face of the captain. I do the same for the other legionary.

Want not waste not, losing daggers because I'm too scared to pull them from a dead body is a terrible excuse.

My steps are slow and weak, each foot requiring much effort to move. Have I been shaken from the fight? Not really, but the fight has drained me of my strength.

Pushing open the heavy wooden door, which had been left ajar from my shocking encounter with the legionary, I leave the room.

I practically limp over to the room I was in earlier. I enter the dark room and feel my way towards the keyhole.

There. Found it. I start pushing each key in the ring into the keyhole one by one, attempting to unlock the locker.

The gods above must be mocking me. Every key brings failure, until the final key turns in the lock. The sound of the locking mechanisms disengaging is music to my ears.

I pop open the metal door and squint into the darkness that is it's interior. Dark shadows are all I can make out, the light of the landing behind me does little to illuminate the locker's interior.

Finally I reach out with my right hand, my hand grasps and grabs the item I have worked so hard to retrieve…

It's a hat. I hold the 'oh-so important soft leather brown cowboy hat in my right hand. I feel like tearing it, slicing it, eating it, just anything violent towards it. I have just risked my life, gone through so much effort to retrieve… a hat.

There's no time for me to stand around wondering why in the world I agreed to do this job. It's only a matter of time before some legionary wanders upstairs to the captain's quarters and discovers the horrid scene.

With the hat in hand, I make for the exit of the room, silent making my way across the landing to the staircase. I descend to the second floor through the stone staircase.

I return to the area I entered through. I flatten and roll the hat up before pushing it into a pocket under the right side of my coat. I climb out through the opening slowly, grabbing the rope I left hanging. Relying on the rope to keep me from falling to my early demise, I slowly position myself on the slanted edge of the exterior wall below the opening, until my buttocks are just above the smooth stone wall.

I let go of the rope. Instantly my body starts sliding down the slanted stone I'm now resting on, the friction slowing down my descent ever so slightly. I run out of slanted wall, and fall from the height of about two to three metres. I hit the ground legs first, which bend to absorb the shock of the drop.

Things would have gone on pretty well if I did not drop down directly in front of a legionary who had happened to be walking below me. A nervous smile cracks on my hooded face as the legionary simply stands there in pure shock.

After half a minute of awkward staring, the legionary reacts, and so do I. His eyes widen and a shout flies from his mouth. His first reaction is to shout out in surprised instead of bringing his shield to bear. Big mistake.

I raise my right leg high, it's knee bend as I bring it up to his face level and before my decreasing balance can get in the way, I release a vicious kick into the legionary's face with the metal sole of my boot.

The legionary stumbles back by a few steps, dropping to the ground buttocks-first from the force of my kick. The kick's damage was mitigated by the presence of his tough metal helmet.

I am so dead. I am so dead. I am so dead. I turn and dash for the gate of the garrison, reaching into my coat pocket where I dumped the ring of keys into earlier.

I almost smash straight into the gate from all the force I have from running. Fumbling with the ring of keys, I start the trial-and-error of finding the right key for the lock. Behind me, I can hear the legionary shouting for help. I have mere seconds before that door starts bursting with legionarys.

The gate is probably made of cast iron, with poles of the gate spread out, some longer than others to create a small hump design at the top with their formidable sharp points. At the bottom, the base of a long cuboid shaped pole is where the other poles are embedded into. The horizontal base is held parallel to the ground by large hinges at the two sides, which are bolted to the walls.

Yes! The fifth key clicks beautifully in the keyhole that's built into the gate. The mechanisms of the gate turn, and locks are disengaged. The gates are released from the grip of their locks and I instantly push both sides of the gate open.

"Spotted him!" A legionary shouts from above behind me.

An arrow whizzes past my left shoulder, nearly brushing against my coat. My eyes widen below my hood as I start dashing with all my strength, looking to the streets ahead outside the garrison's buffer zone.

I'm almost in the clear. Another arrow strikes the ground behind me. I will myself to run faster. My metal soles grunt as they knock and grip the cobblestone ground. Wind blows in my face, breezing and tickling every nook and cranny of my body.

Finally I reach the first few buildings outside the buffer zone. I risk a glance behind me only to spot three legionarys, one in full gear while the other two are in brown tunics with leather shoes and a sword in hand; they were probably relaxing when the alarm was sounded.

I turn the first corner that presents itself to me. Adrenaline continues to rush through my body, empowering me and pushing me to greater exertions. I start running through the streets and walkways, taking random turns periodically until I'm satisfied that the legionarys cannot find me anymore.

I find and climb up a pipe that leads to the roof of the building. The roof is tiled with slanted red tiles that overlap one another. I slowly climb to the flat top of the triangular roof, lying down on my back as I stare at the sky. My ears are filled with the sounds of my own panting, with my head pounding from the heightened heart rate.

I reach into my coat and retrieve the cowboy hat. My eyes stare at it for a while until my breathing rate slows down enough for me to let off a sigh. I set the hat down on my flat tummy. Looking back to the sky, I relax my muscles.

The night sky of features some clouds here and there, but it's too dark to make out any shapes. The moon. It's a full moon tonight. A beautiful white circle in the sky. My eyes continue staring at the moon, before they start to close. Exhaustion finally envelops my body, and sleep follows shortly after.

 **A/N Thanks for reading! Special thanks to Ali or Iamghost, Femme Fatale on Ice and Aqua Lily for helping me make sure my work isn't terrible.**


End file.
